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Kazakhstan’s lost writers: the silenced voices of ...

29.05.2025 362

Kazakhstan’s lost writers: the silenced voices of the Great terror

Kazakhstan’s lost writers: the silenced voices of the Great terror - adebiportal.kz

In 1937–1938, the Soviet Union was gripped by the Great Terror, Stalin’s campaign of political purges that claimed hundreds of thousands of lives. Nowhere was this more devastating than in the Soviet republics’ intellectual circles. In Kazakhstan, as across the USSR, writers, poets, and cultural figures were denounced as “enemies of the people” and swept up in mass arrests and executions.

The purges struck at a generation of Kazakh literati, many of whom had been pioneers of modern Kazakh literature or advocates for their nation’s autonomy. Their only “crime” was often their prominence or their “bourgeois-nationalist” ideas – a label that Soviet authorities attached to anyone promoting Kazakh language, culture, or historical identity outside strict Party control.

This bloody campaign did not emerge from nowhere. It was the culmination of years of mounting repression against the Kazakh intelligentsia. The first blows fell in the late 1920s and early 1930s, when veterans of the Alash Orda – the Kazakh nationalist movement that had sought autonomy in 1917 – were targeted. Leading intellectuals like Akhmet Baitursynov, Mirzhakyp Dulatov, Magzhan Zhumabayev, and Zhusipbek Aimauytov were arrested in 1929–1930 on trumped-up charges of participating in a “counterrevolutionary nationalist organization” aiming to overthrow Soviet power . They were accused of plotting to restore an independent Alash state with foreign support, and even of instigating peasant revolts during the disastrous collectivization policies . In April 1930, a secret police tribunal sentenced a group of 40 Kazakh intellectuals – among them Baitursynov, Dulatov, Gabbasov, Aimauytov and others – to death, a penalty later commuted to ten years in labor camps . Even under these “lenient” sentences, few survived. By the mid-1930s, dozens of Kazakh writers and academics were in Gulag prisons or exile. Dulatov, author of the first Kazakh novel, died in 1935 in the Solovki prison camp . The eminent poet and educator Baitursynov, after years of persecution, would be executed by firing squad in late 1937 .

As Stalin’s regime turned paranoid in the late 1930s, the terror reached its peak. In mid-1937, Moscow issued orders demanding heightened vigilance in Kazakhstan, criticizing local authorities for “lagging behind” other republics in unmasking “enemies” . The response was swift and brutal. A frenzy of denunciations was whipped up in the press: newspapers like Kazakhstan Pravda, Socialist Kazakhstan, and Leninshil Zhas ran daily articles vilifying prominent Kazakh writers and officials . Anyone with a hint of dissent or a link to the pre-Soviet elite was under suspicion. The Stalinist doctrine held that “nationalist elements” were lurking within Soviet culture, purportedly conspiring with foreign spies and fascists. This toxic atmosphere paved the way for mass arrests. In 1937–1938 alone, more than 25,000 people in Kazakhstan – many of them government officials, intellectuals, and cultural figures – were executed on charges of nationalism or “Pan-Turkism,” a catch-all label for alleged separatist sentiment . Tens of thousands more were sent to labor camps. Entire families suffered: the wives of purged men were arrested en masse and dispatched to the infamous ALZHIR women’s camp near Astana, and their children were often left orphaned or sent to state orphanages .

The purge of 1937–1938 in Kazakhstan is sometimes called “the Executed Generation” of the Kazakh intelligentsia. The human cost was incalculable: a whole constellation of literary talent was extinguished. What follows are the stories of some of these writers – many of them once celebrated, now often forgotten – who were persecuted and killed during the Stalinist terror. Through their biographies and surviving works, we glimpse both the brilliance of a nascent national literature and the tragedy of its violent suppression.

Voices Silenced: Persecuted Kazakh Writers of the 1930s

Delegates at a 1934 gathering of Kazakh writers (the First Congress of Kazakhstan’s writers). Within a few short years, many leading figures were denounced and executed as “enemies of the people.”

Akhmet Baitursynov (1872–1937) – The “teacher of the nation”

Akhmet Baitursynov (Baitursynuly) was a towering figure of Kazakh culture – a poet, educator, and linguist so revered that he is often called “Ult Ustazy”, meaning “Teacher of the Nation.” In the 1910s, Baitursynov led a renaissance of Kazakh language and literature. He reformed the Kazakh alphabet, creating a new writing system that fit the sounds of Kazakh more precisely . He compiled the first Kazakh grammar books and textbooks, and through his poetry and journalism (he edited the influential newspaper Qazaq), he awakened national consciousness under Russian imperial rule. One of his popular works, “Qyryq Mysal” (“Forty Fables”), published in 1909, used Aesopian fables to critique colonial society . Baitursynov was also a political leader: a founding member of the Alash Orda government (1917–1919) which sought Kazakh autonomy .

His prominence made him a prime target once Soviet authority was established. Although Baitursynov initially cooperated with the Bolsheviks in the 1920s (even joining the Communist Party in a bid to serve his people within the system), he was steadily marginalized as Moscow’s tolerance for “national deviations” shrank. In 1929, he was arrested in the first major roundup of Alash figures and later exiled. A few years later, during the Great Terror, the OGPU/NKVD came for him again. In October 1937, at age 65, Baitursynov was arrested as a “bourgeois nationalist.” Two months later, on December 8, 1937, he was executed by firing squad as an “enemy of the people” . The very qualities that made him a teacher of the nation – his advocacy for the Kazakh language and his leadership in shaping a national identity – were cited as proof of his treason.

Soviet newspapers demonized Baitursynov as an “Alash-Orda wolf” and a counterrevolutionary. In one 1937 Kazakh press article, his name was invoked as a symbol of the despised old intelligentsia: an editorial thundered against writers like Saken Seifullin for once praising “that Alash-Orda wolf Baitursynov,” accusing them of smuggling nationalist ideas . Baitursynov’s contributions to Kazakh culture were erased for decades; his books were banned, and even mentioning his name could invite suspicion. He was posthumously rehabilitated only in 1988, on the eve of Kazakhstan’s independence . Today, Baitursynov’s legacy has been reembraced: universities, streets, and even Kazakhstan’s Language Day (observed on his birthday) honor the man who gave Kazakhs an alphabet and a modern literary voice. Yet the tragedy remains – this “Teacher of the Nation” was treated as a traitor and silenced just as his people stood to benefit most from his wisdom.

Mirzhakyp Dulatov (1885–1935) – Awakener of a nation

A close associate of Baitursynov, Mirzhakyp Dulatov (often spelled Dulatuli) was another foundational Kazakh writer who met a tragic fate. Dulatov was a poet, novelist, and nationalist activist. In 1909, at just 24 years old, he published a rousing poem titled “Oyan, Qazaq!” – “Wake Up, Kazakh!” – which became a manifesto for Kazakh national awakening. “Open your eyes, wake up, Kazakh, raise your head,” he urged, in lines that are still quoted today . He warned his colonized people that they were losing their land and freedom, and he implored them to unite and educate themselves. The Tsarist authorities promptly banned the book, seeing it as seditious. Dulatov was imprisoned for a time, but undeterred, he continued writing after the 1917 revolution. He helped Baitursynov edit the Qazaq newspaper and was a leading voice in the Alash autonomy movement .

Dulatov authored what is often considered the first Kazakh novel, “Baqytsyz Zhamal” (“Unhappy Jamal”) in 1910. This novel – a tragic tale of a young woman forced into marriage – is a scathing social critique of traditional customs and the lack of education, reflecting Dulatov’s reformist spirit. He also wrote short stories and essays highlighting the need for progress and self-determination. After the Bolsheviks took over, Dulatov initially withdrew from politics. But his prominence made him suspect. In December 1928, he was arrested during Stalin’s sweep of national intelligentsia, charged with nationalism . Along with Baitursynov and others, he was sentenced in 1930 to execution, which was commuted to 10 years of hard labor in the camps . Dulatov was sent to the distant Solovki prison camp on the White Sea. The harsh conditions there broke his health. In early October 1935, news arrived that Mirzhakyp Dulatov had died in custody – reportedly of illness – at age 49 .

He thus died before the peak of the 1937 terror, but he is very much counted among its martyrs. His death in the Gulag was directly caused by the earlier wave of repression that foreshadowed the Great Terror. Dulatov’s works were banned for decades. Only in the late 1980s were his writings re-published and his name cleared. Today, his stirring call “Oyan, Qazaq!” is taught in schools as a turning point in modern Kazakh literature. During recent protests in Kazakhstan, young activists have even quoted Dulatov’s century-old lines — “Open your eyes, Kazakh” — showing that his voice, once nearly lost to the labor camps, still resonates . Dulatov was formally rehabilitated in 1988, and he is now honored as an early advocate of Kazakh independence. Yet one can only imagine how much more he might have contributed had he not perished behind barbed wire, far from the steppe whose slumber he sought to end.

Magzhan Zhumabayev (1893–1938) – Romantic poet branded a “Spy”

Magzhan Zhumabayev (also spelled Jumabayev) was among the most gifted poets of Kazakhstan, a lyrical soul whose fate vividly illustrates the absurdity of Stalinist accusations. In the 1910s, young Magzhan dazzled the Kazakh literary scene with romantic, emotionally charged poetry that celebrated love, freedom, and the Turkic world. He was a protégé of Abai’s literary lineage and was influenced by Tatar and European literature (he translated works of Lermontov, Goethe, and others into Kazakh) . By 1917, Magzhan had aligned himself with the Alash movement – he attended the Alash Orda congresses and shared their dream of a free Kazakh nation .

Zhumabayev’s poetry was imbued with patriotic fervor and sometimes pan-Turkic idealism. In one famous poem, “Men Zhastarğa Senemin” – “I Believe in the Youth” – he likened the rising generation to “lions and tigers” with “strong wings of eagles,” who would lift the Kazakh nation to the skies . Such lines were later condemned by Soviet authorities as nationalist propaganda. Magzhan also wrote a controversial ode to Mustafa Kemal Atatürk (leader of Turkey) in the early 1920s, expressing hope that Turks and oppressed Muslims would rise – a sentiment that Soviet censors viewed as pan-Turkist treason. By the late 1920s, Zhumabayev became a marked man. In 1929 he was arrested and falsely accused of being a “Pan-Turkist” and even a Japanese spy – a completely baseless charge . He was sentenced to ten years in a labor camp, and endured imprisonment in Solovki and then exile in Karelia and Arkhangelsk .

A twist of fate briefly spared him: in 1934, the writer Maxim Gorky and his wife intervened on Magzhan’s behalf after receiving a desperate letter from him in prison . Thanks to Gorky’s efforts, Magzhan was released early. For a short half-year, he lived quietly, teaching in his native Petropavl. But the reprieve did not last. In mid-1937, as the terror swept Kazakhstan, Zhumabayev was rearrested, now at age 44. He was taken to Alma-Ata (Almaty) and, on March 19, 1938, executed by the NKVD, shot without mercy . Decades later, during Khrushchev’s thaw, a Soviet reviewer would admit Magzhan had been “unfairly accused”. He was formally rehabilitated in 1960, though his works remained largely inaccessible until the 1980s .

Magzhan Zhumabayev’s legacy today is that of a martyr-poet. His verses, once circulated in secret, are now celebrated. Streets and schools carry his name, and statues of Magzhan stand in cities from Petropavl to Ankara . In 2018, Kazakhstan issued a commemorative coin and stamps for his 125th birthday . During Kazakhstan’s recent youth rallies and patriotic events, lines from Magzhan’s “Men Zhastarğa Senemin” are often cited to inspire courage . It is a supreme irony that a poet who wrote so movingly of youth, freedom, and the brotherhood of Turkic peoples was silenced as a “fascist spy.” His life and death underscore how Stalin’s purges destroyed not only political opponents, but also the brightest lights of culture. Magzhan’s voice – once nearly lost – has survived to remind new generations of the enduring power of the written word and the high price paid by those who dared to dream freely.

Zhusipbek Aimauytov (1889–1931) – Pioneer novelist executed early

Zhusipbek Aimauytov (often transliterated as Jusupbek or Zhussupbek Aymauytov) is perhaps less famous internationally than the names above, but in Kazakhstan he is remembered as one of the first modern novelists and playwrights. Aimauytov was a versatile talent – he wrote novels, short stories, plays, and literary criticism, and he was also an educator and translator. Alongside Magzhan Zhumabayev, he co-published a magazine in the early 1920s and even authored one of the first Kazakh textbooks on psychology . His most acclaimed work is the novel “Akbilek,” written in the 1920s, which is a gripping story of a Kazakh woman’s abduction by White Army soldiers during the civil war and her struggle for dignity afterward. Akbilek stands as an early feminist and realist work in Kazakh prose – but it went unpublished until long after Aimauytov’s death, due to censorship.

Aimauytov was briefly involved with the Alash Orda in its final days (1918–1919) , and then worked in Soviet institutions in education and theater. However, his past association with Alash colleagues and his prominence in Kazakh letters drew suspicion. In 1929, as Stalin’s regime began rounding up the old intelligentsia, Aimauytov was arrested like many of his peers. The charges were familiar: bourgeois nationalism, plotting against the Soviet state. He was accused of having been part of a clandestine nationalist group (essentially lumping him in with the Alash figures). The case was swift and ruthless. In 1930, Zhusipbek Aimauytov was executed by the authorities – shot at the age of 41, years before the full onslaught of the Great Terror. In effect, he was a precursor victim of the purge, eliminated in the same wave that took Shakarim Kudaiberdiuly (1931) and led to Dulatov’s imprisonment.

For decades, Aimauytov was a non-person in Soviet history. His works lay in manuscript form, hidden. Only in the late 1980s were his novels like Akbilek finally published and his name cleared. Scholars who have since studied Aimauytov’s writing praise its psychological depth and his progressive views on social issues. He also translated foreign literature (including works of Tolstoy and Gogol) into Kazakh, seeking to enrich Kazakh readers’ exposure to world literature . It is sobering to think what more this talented man could have contributed had he not been cut down so young. Aimauytov’s fate is often cited alongside Magzhan Zhumabayev’s as typical of the “culture carriers” that Kazakhstan lost. Both were in their prime, creating new genres of Kazakh writing, when they were branded “traitors.” Aimauytov was formally rehabilitated in 1988. Today, literary historians include him among the founders of modern Kazakh prose. Yet his story – ending before it really had a chance to flourish – remains one of the most poignant examples of Stalinist injustice.

Shakarim Kudaiberdiuly (1858–1931) – A wise voice snuffed out

While most victims of the 1930s purges were younger, Shakarim Kudaiberdiuly (often spelled Kudaiberdiev) represents an older generation that also fell prey to Soviet terror. Shakarim was a half-nephew and student of the great Kazakh poet-philosopher Abai Qunanbaiuly. A learned man, Shakarim carried forward Abai’s intellectual legacy into the early 20th century. He was a poet, theologian, and historian with a deep spiritual bent. By the 1910s, Shakarim had authored works on Kazakh genealogy and history, translated poetry from Persian and Arabic, and written his own lyrical and philosophical verses. He spent years living near Abai’s home in Semey, delving into Sufi poetry and questions of conscience and morality.

Shakarim tried to stay aloof from politics. However, by the late 1920s, his independent mind and noble lineage made him a target for the new Soviet order, which mistrusted any influential thinker outside its control. During the chaos of the Soviet collectivization drive, an anti-collectivization uprising broke out in Eastern Kazakhstan (the 1931 Caragai rebellion). Shakarim, who was by then in his 70s and living as a hermit, was mistaken or maligned as a possible sympathizer of the rebels. In October 1931, Soviet security officers tracked him down. Without any trial or formal charges, Shakarim Kudaiberdiuly was shot and killed near his mountain cabin . Accounts say he was buried in an unmarked grave, and for decades locals kept secret the place of his bones.

For Soviet authorities, eliminating Shakarim was about stamping out a spiritual authority that people respected. In official records, he was smeared as a “feudal reactionary.” His extensive writings were banned; his very existence was erased from public memory for over half a century. Only in the late 1980s was Shakarim’s name rehabilitated and his works slowly republished. Today, Kazakhs regard him as a sage – a link to the wisdom of Abai and the cultural heritage that Stalinism tried to obliterate. His poetry, such as “Justice of the Heart” and other moral essays, have regained readership, valued for their humanistic and ethical reflections. But Shakarim’s end – an old poet felled by a bullet in the quiet of the forest – is a stark reminder that Stalin’s repression spared no one, not even those who sought solitude and peace. He was 73 at the time of his killing. Shakarim’s portrait now hangs in museums, and a university in Semey is named after him. His rehabilitation in independent Kazakhstan was accompanied by public ceremonies re-interring his remains. These acts, however symbolic, aim to restore honor to a wise voice that was cruelly silenced at the dawn of Soviet rule.

Saken Seifullin (1894–1938) – Revolutionary writer betrayed by the revolution

Perhaps one of the most tragic ironies of the Great Terror is the fate of Saken Seifullin – a man who helped build Soviet Kazakh literature and the Soviet Kazakh state, only to be branded a “nationalist” and executed by that same state. Seifullin was a pioneer of modern Kazakh literature, an accomplished poet, novelist, and dramatist who enthusiastically embraced the Bolshevik Revolution in its early years. Born to a humble steppe family, Seifullin was well-educated for his time and was active in Kazakh cultural circles by the 1910s . After 1917, he threw himself into the cause of the revolution. He even briefly served as one of the first heads of the Kazakh SSR’s government in the 1920s . In literature, he became known for works celebrating the new Soviet reality: his poetry collection “Asau Tulpar” (“The Untamed Steed”) and novel “Thorny Path” extolled socialist ideals and the transformation of Kazakh society . He co-founded the Union of Writers of Kazakhstan and was its first chairman . By the mid-1930s, Seifullin was at the pinnacle of his career – honored with the Red Banner of Labor Order in 1936 for his contributions .

Yet, lurking beneath the accolades was growing distrust. Seifullin was a proud Kazakh, and he did not shy from writing about Kazakh history and identity. In one of his plays, “Kyzyl Sunkarlar” (“Red Falcons”), he included scenes praising the spirit of the Kazakh people . He also publicly argued for using the name “Kazakh” (instead of the Russian-imposed term “Kirghiz”) to correctly identify his nation . These acts, while hardly anti-Soviet, were later twisted by Stalinist hardliners as evidence of nationalist sentiment. Starting in mid-1937, a campaign of vilification against Seifullin erupted. In July 1937, a major article in the newspaper Socialist Kazakhstan accused Seifullin of fostering “Seifullinism” – implying a clique with nationalist-panturkist tendencies – and reminded readers that years ago he had once praised Akhmet Baitursynov (now an enemy) and even written poems about Trotsky . In September 1937, Kazakhstan Pravda published a vicious unsigned editorial titled “Uproot the National-Fascist Scum from the Writers’ Union of Kazakhstan,” explicitly naming Seifullin as a plotter who had allegedly sown division and nationalism .

By that time, the die was cast. On September 24, 1937, Saken Seifullin was arrested by the NKVD . He endured months of interrogation and torture in prison . In a forced confession extracted by beatings, he was made to admit to absurd charges: being part of a clandestine anti-Soviet nationalist organization, plotting terror against Soviet leaders, spying for foreign powers – the full gamut of Article 58 accusations . In February 1938, a military tribunal session in Almaty sentenced him to death. Saken Seifullin was shot on 25 February 1938 . He was 43. Adding to the tragedy, his wife Gulbahram was arrested a couple of months later and condemned to seven years in ALZHIR as a “traitor’s wife,” and the couple’s young children died in those dark years with both parents gone .

Seifullin’s execution sent shockwaves through the Kazakh literary community. His friend and fellow writer Gabit Musrepov reportedly tried to intercede for him (Musrepov at one point desperately defended Mailin and others, but to little avail) . Others, like Sabit Mukanov, survived by publicly distancing themselves – Mukanov even penned articles criticizing Mailin and Seifullin under pressure. After Seifullin’s arrest, his name could not be mentioned; in publications he became the unperson, referred to only as a “fascist spy” in past tense . It was not until 1957, during the Khrushchev thaw, that Seifullin was rehabilitated “for lack of any crime” . By then, his legacy needed rebuilding from scratch.

Today, Saken Seifullin is rightfully honored as a national classic. His works are back in print and studied in schools . A museum in Astana is dedicated to his life. Many cities have streets or schools named after him. He is remembered not only for his fiery revolutionary verse, but also for his courage in promoting Kazakh-language literature in the 1920s. Yet the story of his downfall remains one of the most heartbreaking chapters in Kazakhstan’s cultural history – a revolutionary idealist “betrayed by the revolution,” as one writer put it . Seifullin believed sincerely in the Soviet promise and worked to align it with Kazakh interests, but in the end the regime he helped build turned on him. His fate is a stark reminder that under Stalin, even loyalty could not guarantee safety if one’s ethnic pride or independent thinking crossed an invisible line.

(Notably, two of Seifullin’s close contemporaries, poet Ilyas Zhansugurov and writer Beimbet Mailin, shared a similar fate – all three were executed in the same grim winter of 1938. These three are often collectively revered in Kazakhstan as literary giants cut down in their prime. We turn to the latter two now.)

Beimbet Mailin (1894–1938) – Chronicler of the common folk

Beimbet (Beyimbet) Mailin was a writer deeply beloved for his realistic portrayals of everyday Kazakh life. If Saken Seifullin was the herald of revolutionary ideals, Mailin was the empathetic observer of the village – auyl – capturing its humor, sorrows, and transformation under Soviet rule. Born in 1894 to a poor family, Mailin had modest formal education but great literary talent. He started publishing poems in 1913–14, and by the 1920s he became renowned for short stories and sketches that depicted the plight of peasants, the clash of old traditions and new ways, and often the oppression of women in patriarchal society .

Mailin’s style was simple, witty, and humane. He introduced readers to characters like Myrkymbai, the long-suffering farmhand who gains dignity after the revolution – a figure who appeared in several of Mailin’s poems and became emblematic of the Kazakh “little man” finding his voice . Mailin also wrote one of the earliest Kazakh novels, “Shughanın Belgesi” (“Monument to Shuga”), first drafted in 1915 and published in revised form in 1922 . It tells of a young woman, Shuga, who fights against oppressive marriage customs – reflecting Mailin’s reformist concern for women’s rights. Throughout the 1920s and 30s, he was incredibly productive: he penned over 100 short stories, about 20 plays, and countless poems and journalistic articles . He was, as writer Mukhtar Auezov described, “a master of the short form… His true talent shone in short stories and novels”, offering “deeply realistic pictures of the contradictions of the transition period” .

By 1937, Mailin was at the height of his career. He was editor of the literary journal Qazaq Ädebiyeti and was recognized as a leading “proletarian” writer. Yet, like others, he could not escape the gathering storm. In the frenzy of 1937, past associations and innocuous creative choices were turned against him. For instance, Mailin had published a four-volume edition of his collected works by 1936 . This collection included an old play of his from 1925, “Aul School,” which was now denounced because it supposedly “praised the enemy” – incredibly, the enemy in question was Leon Trotsky (who had briefly been mentioned in the play) ! Sabit Mukanov, presumably under great pressure, wrote an article in June 1937 in Kazakhstan Pravda titled “On the mistakes of writer B. Mailin,” accusing Mailin of reprinting “counterrevolutionary drivel” . Mukanov combed through Mailin’s early works and claimed to find “bourgeois-nationalist” errors: a poem where a Kazakh peasant joins Alash fighters, which was cast as Mailin “slandering” the poor by implying they sided with nationalists . He insinuated that Mailin’s mistakes were “not accidental” but signs of deliberate nationalist leanings . The assault was clearly politically orchestrated to justify what was coming.

Late in 1937, not long after Saken Seifullin and Ilyas Zhansugurov had been arrested, Beimbet Mailin was arrested as well . He was accused of anti-Soviet, nationalist activities – the standard charges. Despite a lack of evidence, he was tortured during interrogations. In early 1938, Mailin was sentenced to death by an NKVD troika. He was executed by shooting in February 1938, at age 43 . Decades later, it emerged that fellow writer Gabit Musrepov had quietly tried to delay Mailin’s arrest by involving him in the production of the first Kazakh sound film “Amangeldi” (1938) – hoping his high-profile work on the film could offer some protection . Indeed, Mailin spent much of 1937 on the film set, and this likely postponed his detainment by a few months . But in the end, even that was not enough; after the film was completed, Mailin’s name was stripped from the credits and he was taken by the secret police .

Beimbet Mailin was posthumously rehabilitated in 1957, along with Seifullin and Zhansugurov . His artistic legacy is enormous: roughly 250 poems, 100 stories, and dozens of plays and essays . These works have since been re-published and studied, securing Mailin’s status as a founder of Kazakh realist literature. In his writings, he gave voice to the voiceless – poor villagers, women, the underclass – and he did so with warmth and without propaganda sloganeering. Perhaps that very humanism is what ran afoul of the increasingly dogmatic late 1930s. Today, Kazakhstan celebrates Mailin’s contributions; 2024 marked his 130th anniversary with conferences and articles recognizing him as an “advocate of social justice in Kazakh literature” . Villages, schools, and a district in Kostanay region bear his name. Yet the manner of his death – “shot as an enemy of the people” – remains a painful footnote to a life that was devoted to uplifting the people. Mailin’s fate, like that of so many of his peers, underscores the terrible contradiction of Stalin’s regime: the very writers who championed the Soviet ideals of equality and justice were destroyed by the Soviet state’s injustice.

Ilyas Zhansugurov (1894–1938) – Poet laureate of the steppe cut down

Ilyas Zhansugurov was another luminary of Kazakh literature whose life was tragically cut short in 1938. Often mentioned in the same breath as Seifullin and Mailin, Zhansugurov was a poet, prose writer, and public figure who, like them, navigated the fine line between celebrating Soviet progress and preserving Kazakh identity. Zhansugurov had humble origins and initially worked as a teacher. His literary talents soon brought him to Almaty, where he became the head of the Writers’ Union after Seifullin (Zhansugurov was in fact the first elected chairman of the Union of Writers of Kazakhstan in 1934) . He was a prolific poet, known for vivid imagery and lyricism that drew from Kazakh oral traditions.

One of Zhansugurov’s most famous works is the lengthy poem “Kulager.” This poem, completed in 1936, is often regarded as a masterpiece of Kazakh literature. It was inspired by a real story: during a trip to Kokshetau, Zhansugurov learned of the 19th-century folk poet Aqan Seri and the tragic fate of his beloved racehorse, Kulager . From this, Zhansugurov wove an epic elegy. “Kulager” is ostensibly about a horse killed out of jealousy during a great race, but on a deeper level it laments the destruction of beauty and talent by envy and malice – a prophecy, it seems, of what was to befall Zhansugurov and his peers. The poem brims with rich descriptions of the steppe and heartfelt sorrow. “The sun has set. The land of Arqa is covered with shadow… Akan grieved saying goodbye to Kulager, while all the people looked on in sympathy,” writes Zhansugurov in one moving passage . The “Lament for Kulager” sequence (some lines of which are quoted below) is one of the most haunting in Kazakh poetry, often seen as Zhansugurov’s own swan song:

“Goodbye my Kulager, you must remain here,

…I have lost you my only one,

Nothing I can do to bring you back to life.”  

Tragically, Kulager almost perished along with its author. After Zhansugurov’s arrest, the original manuscript of the poem was seized by the NKVD and copies were removed from libraries . It was only saved because a friend, writer Sapargali Begalin, had hidden a newspaper clipping of it and later literally stitched the torn pieces together and hid them in a pillow until after Zhansugurov’s name was cleared . This dramatic anecdote shows the lengths to which people had to go to preserve literature under totalitarian censorship.

Zhansugurov’s downfall followed the by-now familiar pattern. In mid-1937, the press criticized him alongside others for alleged political lapses. The youth newspaper Leninshil Zhas accused a range of figures (Zhansugurov among them) of being “bourgeois nationalists”, labeling them “traitors, fascists, agents of German-Japanese imperialism” in August 1937 . By that time, the NKVD was already building its case. In August 1937, Zhansugurov was arrested by the NKVD. He was charged with espionage (absurdly, being a spy for Japan – a common fabricated charge against many intellectuals) and with nationalist subversion . He endured six months in custody. On February 25, 1938, the Military Collegium of the USSR Supreme Court in Moscow sentenced Ilyas Zhansugurov to death “with immediate execution” . The sentence was carried out the next day: February 26, 1938, Zhansugurov was shot in the ALZHIR prison complex along with a large group of other Kazakh intellectuals . He was 44. His wife, the writer Fatima Gabitova, and their children were left to endure the stigma (Fatima herself was later arrested and spent years in the ALZHIR camp for being the wife of an “enemy”) .

With Zhansugurov’s death, Kazakh literature lost its first Writers’ Union leader and a poet who had skillfully bridged Kazakh classical motifs with contemporary themes. For almost twenty years after, his name was mud – officially unmentionable until his rehabilitation in 1957. Since then, he has been restored to his place in the literary canon. His collected poems and writings are published, and Kazakh critics celebrate his contributions to poetry and prose (he wrote a novel and many journalistic pieces as well). In 1994, marking 100 years since his birth, memorial events were held, and scholars dubbed him “the encyclopedia of nomadic life” for his rich ethnographic detail . A university in Taldykorgan (Zhansugurov’s home region) now bears his name. But like his comrades, Zhansugurov remains a symbol of unfulfilled potential – a life and career stopped in mid-stride. As his friend Sabit Mukanov later wrote in grief, “Ilyas’s star was bright, but its light was cut off far too soon.” Each time Kazakh schoolchildren read Kulager, they not only encounter a moving tale, but also implicitly learn about the dark context in which it was written and almost lost. Zhansugurov’s fate reinforces a central theme of this history: the Great Terror aimed to obliterate a culture, but through remembrance and revival, that culture ultimately survived.

Other literary victims and survivors

The list of Kazakh writers and intellectuals persecuted in the 1930s goes on far beyond the names detailed above. Virtually an entire generation of cultural leaders was uprooted. Among others who met tragic ends were Zhummat Shanin (1892–1938), the founder of Kazakh theater and a talented playwright, who was arrested and executed in February 1938 for alleged nationalism. Sanjar Asfendiyarov (1889–1938), though primarily known as a statesman and historian (and founder of Kazakhstan’s first medical institute), also wrote historical works; he was shot in 1938 . Telzhan Shonanov (1894–1938), a prominent linguist and educator who helped create Kazakh terminology for science, was executed in February 1938 as well. Even those who survived the purges bore deep scars.

A notable survivor was Mukhtar Auezov, then a young writer who had once been part of the Alash circle. Auezov was arrested in 1930 and spent over two years imprisoned . He narrowly escaped the 1937 purge (partly by lying low and even penning a public self-criticism), and went on to write the epic novel “The Path of Abai.” Likewise, Sabit Mukanov – who had earlier criticized his friends under pressure – survived and continued writing, but later admitted the psychological toll of those years. For every one who lived, many others perished or languished in the Gulag. A telling statistic: by 1938, out of 597 delegates who had attended the first Soviet Kazakh Writers’ Congress in 1934, 180 were dead or imprisoned as “enemies of the people.”

The effect on Kazakh literature and culture was devastating. The late 1930s became a cultural void – new works produced were often censored, formulaic pieces, as the genuine creative voices had been silenced. An entire lineage of mentorship was broken. Young writers of the 1940s grew up without the guidance of those who should have been their teachers. It was not until the mid-1950s, after Stalin’s death, that rehabilitations allowed these names to be spoken again and their works slowly reintroduced.

Legacy and remembrance in modern Kazakhstan

The ghosts of the Stalinist purges loomed over Kazakhstan for decades, but with independence in 1991 came a full-scale effort to restore and honor the memories of the persecuted writers. Rehabilitation – the clearing of charges and official restoration of innocence – is not just a legal term but a moral imperative that Kazakhstan has pursued since the late Soviet era. In 1988, during Gorbachev’s glasnost, the Soviet authorities formally rehabilitated many Alash figures (Baitursynov, Dulatov, Zhumabayev, Aimauytov, Shakarim, and others), acknowledging that no crimes had been committed . By 1957–58, earlier, the Soviet courts had rehabilitated Seifullin, Mailin, Zhansugurov, and others as part of Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization , though often quietly. But only in an independent Kazakhstan could the full story be openly told and the honors properly bestowed.

Since the 1990s, Kazakhstan has made a point of commemorating these “executed poets and writers” as national heroes. Monuments and memorials have been erected. In 1997, the government instituted May 31 as the national Day of Remembrance for Victims of Political Repression and Famine, honoring those lost in the 1930s. On that day, ceremonies are held at sites like ALZHIR and the Karlag museum (Karaganda’s Gulag camp memorial) to remember the dead. In 2007, the ALZHIR Memorial Complex was opened near Astana, with its striking “Arch of Sorrow” monument – a powerful tribute to the wives and mothers who suffered . At ALZHIR’s museum, alongside exhibits about the women prisoners, there are lists of names and photographs, some of which include the spouses – the writers and statesmen who were executed. Seeing names like Seifullin, Zhumabayev, or Baitursynov on those walls drives home the intimate family costs of the purge: these men were not only writers, but husbands and fathers whose families were destroyed alongside them .

In literature and academia, there has been a concerted revival of the repressed oeuvre. Collected works of the Alash writers and the 1930s writers have been published in multi-volume editions, often with state support. For example, the complete works of Magzhan Zhumabayev have been compiled, including poems that survived only in memory or fragment. Universities host conferences on the Alash movement and its cultural legacy . The Alash Orda itself has been reframed in Kazakhstan’s history textbooks as a precursor to modern statehood rather than a counter-revolutionary footnote (a significant shift from Soviet historiography) . In 2017, on the centenary of the Alash autonomy, numerous events celebrated Alikhan Bokeikhanov, Baitursynov, Dulatov, and the rest – rehabilitating not just individuals but the ideals they stood for (constitutional governance, education, national dignity) .

Streets, schools, and institutions have been renamed to honor these figures. To give a few examples: The Akhmet Baitursynov Kostanay Regional University carries the linguist’s name. The national award in journalism is named after Baitursynov as well. In Petropavl, the Magzhan Zhumabayev District immortalizes the poet . A major street in Almaty is Seifullin Avenue; Nur-Sultan (Astana) has the Saken Seifullin Museum. Taldykorgan city in Almaty region is home to Ilias Zhansugurov University. In 2021, Kazakhstan even held a year-long celebration of Akhmet Baitursynov’s 150th anniversary, reflecting on his role as an “enlightener of the nation”. These namings are not mere formalities – they signal to the younger generation that these once-forbidden names are now sources of pride.

Cultural projects have also emerged. Plays and films have been made about some of these writers. For instance, a documentary film “Magjan” was produced in 1990 , and another documentary aired in 2019 on TRT Avaz (Turkish broadcaster) , underscoring Magzhan’s importance beyond Kazakhstan (he is revered in Turkey and Tatarstan, too, as a Turkic poet). There have been dramatizations of Shakarim’s life and stage plays about the Alash leaders. Each year, literary prizes and reading competitions (especially among students) are held in the names of Seifullin, Mailin, Magzhan, and others, to encourage learning their works.

In sum, contemporary Kazakhstan treats the persecuted writers of the Stalin era as both victims and heroes. They are victims in that they suffered injustice and brutality; but they are heroes in that their ideas ultimately survived and helped shape Kazakhstan’s national identity.  Through remembrance, their light endures. The poems of Magzhan are recited at festivals; the stories of Mailin are staged in theaters; the scholarly works of Baitursynov are foundational references in linguistics courses. Each time a student opens a Kazakh literature textbook and reads about these individuals, the cycle of cultural memory is reinforced. It is a testament to resilience: Stalin’s aim was to erase these voices, but today they speak louder than ever in the collective memory of the Kazakh people.

Yet despite these efforts, remembrance and recognition remain incomplete. Many names are still missing from official narratives, and countless stories of suffering remain untold. For younger generations, the weight of this history risks fading into abstraction unless it is actively taught, discussed, and reflected upon. True national healing requires not only monuments and commemorations, but also a deeper reckoning with the traumas of the past – and a sustained commitment to honoring those who dared to think, write, and dream differently in the face of oppression. 

As we reflect on the saga of Kazakhstan’s persecuted writers, we confront a sobering truth: an oppressive regime feared the power of the pen so much that it was willing to execute poets and storytellers. But we also find inspiration: in the end, the pens outlasted the guns. The words that these writers wrote – words of enlightenment, of identity, of truth – have survived the very system that sought to annihilate them. Their lives and deaths remind us of the human cost of political repression, as seen through the lens of literature and culture. Each of these writers had a unique voice that was silenced, but by reviving their works and telling their stories, Kazakhstan ensures that those voices are heard again. In the fate of each persecuted poet or novelist, there is a microcosm of a nation’s trauma and its unwavering determination to never let such darkness fall again. Kazakhstan’s lost writers are no longer lost to memory – they have become immortal examples of courage and the enduring spirit of a culture that refused to be silenced.


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